That’s what you said to me when I told you about the baby. But what did I expect? You were a prince and I worked the small farm I’d inherited from my father. Part of me had hoped you’d check in from time to time, but that was wishful thinking.
Now here I am, in the fields, alone and in labor.
Another wave of pain crests and I cry out, bearing down with the unbearable pressure. I gather the hem of my tunic up my thigh, clutching my hardened belly with one hand and reaching between my legs with the other. The skin there is hot and distended outward in a large dome and, at its peak, I can feel a spot of matted hair. My knees shake with the effort of keeping them apart as I take desperate panting breaths and then I’m pushing again, a few tears eking out at the searing stretch.
The heat and exhaustion are taking their toll—nausea creeps up at the same time spots dance in the corners of my vision and in the distance… I swear I could hear the dull thud of a horse’s hooves barreling towards me.
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Our relationship began when we were just boys, before either of us knew what it meant to be called ‘master’ and ‘servant’, ‘royal’ and ‘peasant’. And as we grew into men, we took with us the easy banter and unrestrained affection we’d cultivated for each other. Henry had told me, on numerous occasions, that the time we spent together was the only thing that made his stiff, often oppressive princely duties bearable. Serving as the castle’s mage—squandering my talents making beauty potions and sleep tonics for bored monarchs—was not exactly my life’s passion either, but it kept me close to Henry, and that was enough.
But then his father, the king, announced that Henry was to be married to the princess of a neighboring realm, one with grain to fill our empty silos and ships to protect our vulnerable coastlines. It was the best thing for the kingdom, and the worst thing for us.
We were foolish to act like this could last forever. Even more so to actually to believe it.
A few weeks before the wedding, the king came to me in my chambers—not unheard of, but definitely unusual. He requested that I produce a fertility elixir. For his son. To ensure the wedding night was… fruitful.
This was normal, necessary even, to ensure the royal bloodline would continue. I nodded, though my stomach had already begun twisting itself in knots. But Henry loved children, had always wanted them, and it was bittersweet to know that this was the role I’d play in giving them to him.
It still would have been enough just to be near him. To see Henry grow into the role of husband, father, and one day king. And even though I promised his father that I would do whatever he asked, that I would not interfere, that Henry did not even love me in the same way that I loved him, he knew how close the prince and I were and could not risk my presence interfering with his judgment, his duty to his people.
He would be sending me away as soon as they were married.
The room swayed like the flutter of his royal cloak as he left me to prepare, both the potion and for my departure.
It was easy enough to withdraw from Henry in the following days—he was busy getting fitted for robes and hunting for the feasts, and I was busy trying to figure out how to live my life without the man that I loved. Several times he pulled me aside to make jokes about how ridiculous and over-the-top this all was, about how archaic these arranged marriages were and how he would probably barely even see her and nothing much was likely to change.
He would look at me then, as if asking me to confirm this to be the truth, but all I could ever manage was a tight smile and the promise that all would happen as it should.
I delivered the potion to the king a week before the wedding, but celebrations were already underway. A caravan was to take me away the morning of the ceremony and I just had to hold on until then. It would be easier once there was some distance between us. It had to be.
All my mental preparation was shattered, though, when Henry came bursting into my quarters the night before his wedding. There was a spark of accusation in his eyes as he waited for me to speak.
“You cannot leave me,” he finally said when I remained silent.
“Is that a request or an order?” Not that it mattered—even Henry could not trump the command of a king.
“Neither, it is simply a statement of fact.” I raised my eyebrows and looked pointedly around at the boxes in the room. “I cannot—“ He paused, cleared his throat, and sat beside me on the bed. “I do not want to do this without you.” He leaned to the side, taking my hand in his and resting his head against my temple. “I love you.”
And that was both why I wanted to stay, and exactly why I needed to leave. “Henry—“ My voice broke on just the utterance of his name, and any elegant, composed goodbye speech I might have intended shattered with it.
He kissed me then, long and slow and deep. He tasted of wine and honey, though sweeter and more intoxicating than either. “Don’t go,” he whispered against my lips, swallowing any refusal I might have given. His hands grabbed for my thigh, my waist, my neck, every desperate movement echoing his words’ entreaty.
I knew he didn’t really want me like this, he just didn’t want me to leave. But at that moment I was too selfish to care.
I took every part of him he offered and gave all of myself in return.
I let him make love to me, and let myself believe that he meant it.
I let him say goodbye.
. . .
We traveled for weeks before reaching the rocky coastline that was to be my new home. I was almost glad for it, as the constant jostling hour after hour, day after day had started to make me ill.
The small seaside town was nice enough, but something about it clearly did not agree with me. The scents of saltwater and seafood followed me everywhere and caused my stomach to lurch. The sun was brighter here, the air hot and moist and clinging to my skin. These were the excuses I made for myself to indulge my grief by sleeping the days away in my dark empty room.
I was supposed to be running the apothecary alongside the local witch, so it should not have come as a surprise that she came looking for me. Perhaps it was the healer in her, or perhaps I had spent too long in the company of entitled noblemen, but it was not her ire I received, as I’d been expecting, but rather sympathy. Kindness.
I broke down in her arms.
After a few weeks of adjustment and good company, I started to feel like myself again. There were still plenty of tears, but laughter too, and there was so much to learn, so much the witch was willing to teach me.
She was the first to suggest I might be pregnant.
It was a ridiculous assertion, until it wasn’t. The nausea, the exhaustion, the rounding out of my middle. It would have made perfect sense if it weren’t impossible.
“We perform magic for a living—what is impossible to us?” she’d said.
And that’s when I remembered the fertility potion. If the king had given it to Henry at any point before the wedding…
I pressed a hand to my stomach, fingers molding to the soft curve beneath my belly button. Joy and hope swirled with fear and melancholy—this child was supposed to belong to Henry and his princess, to the king and his people. But there would be other children, even without magical intervention, and I could not bring myself to regret taking this piece of him with me.
The first whispers of war started around the first time I felt the babe stirring in my womb. A conscription for soldiers came soon after, followed closely by a call for healers. I was the obvious choice, strong and gifted and young, but the witch would hear none of it.
She’d volunteered herself in order to keep me from the battle, but even she could not keep the battle from coming to me.
Over the next few months my services shifted from delivering babies to delivering funeral rites, from casting enchantments of blessing and bounty to ones of shelter and separation. Boats flying foreign banners gathered in the harbor as the beaches crowded with camps of our own.
I offered sacrifices to the sea to keep her churning and tumultuous, too dangerous to approach her jagged shores. Spells of protection spilled constantly from my lips, and the armies took it as an auspicious sign that no men were lost even as the sky darkened with volley after volley of arrows.
But the continual release of magic took its toll—one that I couldn’t afford to continue paying once the contractions started.
They kept me up most of the night, so I was already awake when a soft knock sounded at the front door in the quiet pre-dawn. The man was obviously a soldier, though he was not currently in uniform, and cocked an amused smile at me.
“And I thought the war was taking its toll on ME.” He shifted slightly under my irritated glare. “Ehm, you’re the town mage, yeah?”
I pressed the heels of my palms into my tired eyes and sighed. “What do you need?” I asked, annoyance suddenly replaced with an anxious weariness. A piece of paper was placed in my hand and I looked back up at him. “What’s this?”
“A note.” Obviously. “From my commander.” He glanced back toward the cliffs overlooking the shore before giving me a quick salute. “Best be getting back now.”
A sense of foreboding washed over me and I sat heavily into a chair as I unfolded the letter. I recognized the handwriting immediately and the baby twisted wildly in response to my racing heart.
“I was supposed to die out here. To sacrifice myself. To perish in dishonor and anonymity and hope it would be enough to appease the disgraced king. And I was ready—it was my fault, after all.
But you saved us. You are still saving us. I know it’s you. I can feel you in the air, the salt, the sea, just as real as the last time I saw you, the last time I held you in my arms. But you cannot forestall destiny forever.
There is so much I wanted to tell you, but it is enough to know you are here with me at the end. Just as you always were. I would not change a thing.
I love you.
—H”
I ran out of the house, stumbling over frantic unbalanced feet, and dropped to my knees at the precipice of the bluffs. He was down there, somewhere among the thousands of armored men arranged in neat, intimidating blocks glinting in the golden light of the rising sun.
Henry was here, and he still loved me, and our child was coming… and the ships were getting closer.
The rocks beneath my hands were warm and hummed with anticipation. I tried to force my magic to travel through them, to seek out the soldiers’ feet and ward them with whatever power I had left to give. But a sharp pain in my lower back broke my concentration and it didn’t even reach the beach.
The ships anchored close enough to the shoreline that the navy’s longer range weapons could easily find their mark, but too far for any man to hope to swim there without being shot down. The invading force didn’t need to strike hard or fast, they just needed to bide their time and pick off Henry and his men one by one until there was no one left.
Cowards.
Righteous fury burned away the weight of fatigue and I began the long trek down to the ocean. My enchanted cloak was better than any shield, the spells on my tongue sharper and more deadly than any sword. I was waist deep in the still water when the only voice that could have pierced through my cloud of anger reached my ears. It was yelling my name with the same intense desperation I felt. I turned, and the world fell away as my eyes landed on Henry—my friend, my prince, my love. With a flick of my wrist he stopped, mid-sprint, but his gaze never wavered.
“I will not let you die here today.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but I sprinkled them in with the wind and knew they had reached him when his face turned desperate and he began struggling against the invisible shackles at his ankles. “I love you too much for that.”
I didn’t wait to see how he responded to that before turning back to the reason I’d come. I began chanting and the water receded around me in a circle. The ocean held its own kind of magical power, and all wizards knew it was a fool’s errand to try and control a force of nature.
But I had always been a fool when it came to Henry.
The connection I’d established was intense and threatened to consume and overwhelm. Drown. But the twinges of pain and flutter of kicks moored me to my body, my mission. Shafts of arrows sprouted from the sand around me, but stopped suddenly when a wall of water rose up and blocked their path. It felt as though I bore the whole weight of it on my shoulders and I shouted my own battle cry even as I was brought to my knees. My body twisted and trembled, but did not break. When it towered as tall as the surrounding cliffs I threw out my hands and fell forward, the giant wave falling with me. A thunderous crack echoed off the rocks, the mighty roar of the water mingling with the cries of broken men and splintering ships.
The sun was high, but to me the world was dark and cold and heavy. Arms were pulling me from the foamy aftermath, but I didn’t even have the strength to dispel the water flooding my lungs. My whole body ached and I recoiled from the fist pounding into my back. I tried to scream in pain, but all that came out was a violent spray that tore at my throat and caused my chest to spasm and seize. The air that replaced it was like breathing fire, but then Henry’s mouth was on mine and there was nothing more I wanted to do than keep breathing him in.
I gasped and pulled away when the insistent pressure between my hips peaked, unable to answer Henry’s frantic, worried questions.
“Get the healer!” he commanded, and I saw a shadow retreat from my curled up position in the sand. Then, leaning in close to nuzzle at the spot just below my ear, “You cannot leave me.”
“Is that—“ I coughed and winced, holding tightly to the hand he offered, “a request or an order?”
There was some shuffling and grumbling and then I heard a familiar voice that almost brought tears to my eyes. “What were you thinking taking on Mother Nature like that? Have I taught you nothing!” The witch’s warm, motherly face tutted affectionately as she knelt down and took in the state of me. Her assessing gaze paused on the hand I had wrapped around my stomach, which was still pretty well concealed beneath the folds of my robe. “How far along are we then?”
“I’m… not sure,” I admitted, but the next contraction told her all she needed to know—I was close.
“Far along with what?” Henry asked, looking between the two of us. “What don’t I know?”
“This the guy?” the witch asked in a stage whisper. I nodded and she hummed in approval. “Cute. Can you make it back to the shop?” My inability to answer was answer enough and she turned to Henry. “I don’t suppose the prince’s quarters are equipped with a bed?”
I would have been difficult to carry all the way to Henry’s tent in the sand amidst the wreckage even if I weren’t weighed down by the drenched fabric, so I was maneuvered onto a shield and dragged. It was undignified, but at least it was quick.
I tugged at the stifling garment as soon as the flaps closed behind us, but my muscles were spent and I whined when it clung stubbornly to my body. Henry took over the task and his breath hitched as the changes in my body became apparent, now only thinly veiled beneath a light dressing gown.
“What’s wrong with him?” He was looking at me but the question was directed toward the witch.
She ignored him, instead running her hands lightly over my prone form, checking for injuries. She lingered at my feet, my wrists, my chest, my head, and the cool tingle of a healing spell soothed cracks and tears I hadn’t even realized were there. “You’re lucky, kid,” she huffed when she was satisfied, settling her hands on her hips.
“He’s okay?”
I wanted to ease Henry’s concerns, to wrap my arms around him and kiss away the worry lines between his brows, but my arms buckled as soon as I tried to push myself up to reach him. I gave the witch an accusatory look, but she just shrugged unapologetically.
“Can’t do much about the energy drain,” she explained. “That’s the magic’s doing—you picked a hell of a time to bring your body to its limit.”
“What does she mean?” I groaned and Henry tucked me into his side, holding me as I crumpled and shook under the force of a pain he did not understand. When I stilled a minute or so later, he stroked my hair and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “You know you can tell me anything.”
I took his hand, stroked my fingers across the place where his wedding band would be if he weren’t on the battlefield. He shook his head, didn’t understand. My throat was ragged and raw but I managed, “Your w-wife…” the word burning worse than the saltwater.
“My—“ He pulled away just far enough to give me an incredulous look. “I’m not married. I couldn’t go through with the wedding after…” he glanced toward the witch and a light blush swept across his skin. “Well, after. Her father was not happy, obviously.” He nodded toward the entrance to the tent, toward the tattered fleet just on the other side, and yeah, that was an understatement. “I thought you knew, I thought—fuck, you did this thinking I belonged to another?”
“I didn’t know,” I rasped, “you loved me like that… too.”
He took the hand I still had on his and intertwined our fingers. I squeezed him back tightly as a cramp wound its way around my stomach, my hips, my back.
His other hand fluttered around me uselessly as he begged us both, “Please, what can I do? What’s wrong?”
“From what I understand,” the witch explained to Henry, as I was otherwise occupied, “your father slipped you a fertility potion right before your wedding and you knocked up the wrong person. That about right?”
I cringed at the crass explanation, but nodded.
“I don’t—what does that mean? What do you mean?”
I positioned his large hand across the firm expanse of my belly. “It means I’m having a baby, Henry.” The next contraction was starting, bringing with it an urge almost as powerful as the ocean. “Mm, right now,” I warned, my knees shifting restlessly in a fruitless attempt to open my hips.
“What? You can’t!” Henry protested.
“I wouldn’t argue that with him right now,” the witch said, putting a comforting hand on my knee. “Whaddaya say, kid? How do you wanna do this?”
“Bed. Please.”
With considerable assistance, I made my way to the small cot and it was heaven against my aching joints. Following my body’s instincts—for whatever they were worth in a situation like this—I rolled onto my side, drawing one knee up to pull against as I bore down with the immense pressure building inside me. Henry quickly took over holding the position when it was apparent that my strength should be focused elsewhere.
“You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispered, though there was no way either of us could know that was true. “I’m right here. You can do this.”
My hips were much more narrow than a woman’s and progress was torturously slow. My already meager strength waned and I had no way to replenish it—I couldn’t eat or drink anything without it coming back up. The sky had just begun to darken when a hellish burn started to accompany my efforts and I could not stop myself from wailing with each push.
“I can’t,” I sobbed for the thousandth time as my body stubbornly refused to release the life trapped inside it.
“No one else gonna do it for ya,” the witch reminded me, quite unhelpfully.
“I’m going to tear in two.”
“Yep, yep. That’s the head tryin to come through—this is the hardest bit, lad, but it’s right there, I can see it even now!”
“Wait, really?” Henry’s eyes went from anxious to alight as they flicked to the gap between my legs. “That’s a baby,” he said, as if it was the first time he actually believed it. Maybe it was. A tear eked out from the corner of his eye and followed the strong line of his jaw as he kissed my raised knee with a disbelieving and semi-hysterical laugh. “That’s our baby.” My stomach tightened before I was ready and I whined. “Push now, keep pushing.”
I would give Henry anything he asked of me, but in this case there was nothing left to give. As soon as I held my breath, my head went fuzzy and my grip slackened. I tried again, sucking in a quick breath only to release it on an anguished cry.
“I can’t,” I said again, shivering despite the heat radiating from my body. “You need to save the baby. Please, I can’t—just save the baby.”
Henry studied me seriously for a moment before releasing his hold on my leg. Whatever he saw must have been enough to convince him that I meant it, and he took my face in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes and see the determination there as he echoed my own words back to me. “I will not let you die here today.”
I believed him.
Henry pulled me gently but firmly to a seated position at the end of the bed, then settled himself at my back. At the start of the next contraction he inched forward, forcing me off the edge and into a deep squat. His strong grip kept me from collapsing to the floor but I howled as gravity added to the unbearable weight in my core.
“That’s it, just let it come now,” the witch soothed as the head suddenly came to a full crown in her palm.
“Henry, I—“ I gasped and shuddered, slumping in relief as the rest of the head slipped out.
“I know, it’s almost over.”
“No.” I craned my neck so that I could look up into his eyes. “It’s only just beginning.” His returning smile was radiant, fighting back the dark pull of unconsciousness long enough for me to give one last strained, desperate push.
“Born in the caul,” the witch remarked as she cleaned off the baby, rubbing it down until it began to wriggle and cry and then placing it—him, I realized, my heart skipping a beat—in my arms. “Supposed to be good luck, and seems to me you all are gonna need it.”
I sit behind you in the massive tub, the water doing nothing to ease the pressure ramming through your pelvis. My hand is between your legs, fingers circling the teardrop shape of your opening. You pull your knees back, hips opening painfully wide as you bear down hard with another contraction. My palm fills as the baby’s head bulges and strains against your tight folds. My fingers part to trace the outline of the modest crown, stretching and teasing apart the sensitive tissues until your desperate whines condense into a scream.
It’s okay, take a breath. I’ve got you. The head’s not going anywhere, but now the only way to make it better is to get the baby out. Keep pushing.
My other hand reaches around your massive belly and together they form a ring around the little protruding dome and give you something to push against. It’s burning now, but you can’t stop. Your feet find purchase on the rim of the bath and fingers clutch desperately at your shaking thighs to keep them from snapping shut against the unbearable fiery stretch.
You’re doing so well. You’re at a full crown now, but you’ve got to wait for another contraction to push again. I like you like this—moaning and writhing against me as you struggle to birth this massive head. Perhaps my hands will stay right where they are, keeping you at the peak of fullness for just a little while longer.
Another story that I wrote alongside @allkindsofpreg - hope this one gets you all as hot and bothered as the previous ones!
---
We were elated when we found out it was twins. 2 babies! Of course that meant that you had to give up your role as the ‘fitness gym girl’ on the breakfast tv show you’d been in for 5 years - as the management team couldn’t possibly show keep fit with a bump. So between us we started our own fitness studio. My income as a doctor supported us both thankfully as the business took its time to pick up, but you had amassed a steady following as you entered the 8th month, on your fourth set of leotards as the belly kept on growing and growing bigger and bigger. Today was your last class before you were handing over to your assistant to start your maternity leave and I’d popped in especially to see it.
As I pushed open the door I see 20 women in various stages of pregnancy watching you give a class on ‘stretches to prepare you for labour.’ I wave - you acknowledge me with a nod - and get a few glances over from the women in the class as I take my seat. You’re circling your hips on a birthing ball slowly rubbing your belly whilst explaining that this position and rotation helps open your hips and can relieve pain. Speaking of pain, you’d been having fairly frequent Braxton hicks contractions for over 3 weeks now but they had never been what you would call painful. When this morning started like any other - pains that cycled up and down every few minutes, it was just a morning like any other… surely full-blown labour must be noticeably different when it starts?
You make a move to get up, but I gesture for you to stay where you are— I don’t want to interrupt. You smile, feeling my eyes trace every curve on display through your tight workout gear. After finishing a warmup on the ball, you guide the class forward into a gentle squat, using the ball for support if needed. Practicing this move several times a day has kept you pretty open, and you easily plant your feet and lean forward, generous belly spilling out from your hips. It takes most of your concentration to stay upright with your constantly shifting centre of balance—the babies have grown so much over the last few weeks and you often have to back out of spaces instead of turning around—and you breathe through another minor contraction. You gently get to your knees and press forward onto your hands, demonstrating a spinal stretch that practically drags your belly on the floor. After a few more hip and back openers, you set everyone up at the various stations of the circuit and start the timer as you make your way over to me.
My hand immediately finds the lower curve of your stomach as I lean in for a quick kiss. “How are you feeling, love?”
You release a somewhat exasperated sigh. “Same as before. If this keeps up, I may have to keep working just to stay sane!” You check your watch and blow your whistle and everyone moves one station to their right. “Happy to see you, though.” You trail your hands down the seam of my button-down, hooking a finger into one of the openings and giving it a playful tug. “Maybe… help me get these contractions kickstarted.”
My eyes flick to the women at the back of the gym then back to you in a mix of desire and admonishment. “Later,” I promise, kissing the tip of your nose and spinning you around, giving your behind a little tap.
You twist your head to give me a little pout and silently mouth the word “later” in response.
I stay through the end of the class — mentally playing out in my mind all the things I am going to do to you… in the name of inducing labour, of course—but as you move into the final cooldown pose, things take a turn.
You’re on your knees leaning forward with your elbows on the stability ball, heavy belly reaching for the ground, when another contraction revs up. You start to breathe through it, but it’s difficult to stay loose and relaxed. You can feel one fist clench as the other instinctively wraps around your contracting stomach. You bury your face into the crook of your elbow and breathe harshly until the worst of it passes, then feel a large warm hand at your back. You look up to see my face, concerned but with a hint of excitement.
“Alright?”
You nod, sitting back on your heels and announcing, “Class is over!”
One of the ladies tutted “we still have 20 minutes…” however one of the more perceptive ones noticed your closed eyes and hand rubbing your distended belly and shushed her, realising what had happened.
“Ladies, I’m sorry” I jumped in. “You’re more than welcome to stay here and use the facilities but I think I need to take my wife out back to rest.”
“We understand” the general murmur echoed around the room though the discontented mother to be was still grumbling.
I brace myself as I help you lift up off the ground as you stumble forward into me as a result of a pain shooting through you. My arms hold you tight as you bury your head into my shoulders and grab hold of my upper arm, squeezing tight. My hand naturally falls to the swell of your belly and I feel how rock hard it is - a sure sign of a contraction half way through its action.
There was a gasp from the ladies in the room as they see you stumble and an even louder gasp where a few moments later there was a dark spot between your legs and visible liquid trickling down your legs.
“Shit” came the voice of Sarah, the perceptive lady from earlier.
The pressure in your pelvis skyrocketed and you followed your body’s instincts, bending your knees and leaning forward, bracing your hands on your thighs. A low humming sound filled the room and you were surprised to find it was coming from you. The pain crested and you grabbed onto an offered arm, the moans getting deeper and louder.
“That’s it, let it out,” Sarah soothed, giving the hand you had clenched around her forearm a little pat. When your grip loosened and your breathing evened out she asked, “How long have you been in labour?”
“M’not,” you said, shaking your head despite all the evidence to the contrary. “I don’t- or, I wasn’t?” You knew you weren’t making sense and you looked to me for help.
“She’s been having Braxton’s Hicks contractions on and off for weeks now,” I explained. “Guess this morning’s weren’t practice anymore.”
“Did my water break?” you asked, surprised by the feeling of wet skin and fabric. I chuckled and nodded, grabbing a clean towel from the bench and tossing it at your feet to soak up the liquid. “Then it’s really happening. The babies are really coming.”
I pulled you into my side and kissed the top of your head. “Yup. No turning back now.”
Another contraction slammed into you, taking you by surprise with its sudden intensity, and you dipped back into your semi-squat and let out a guttural groan.
“Oh I know that sound. Been through it six times already myself,” Sarah said, drumming her fingers on what was apparently her seventh bump. “Won’t be long now.”
You were shaking your head again. “Too fast. I haven’t- we’re not-“ You huffed between panted breaths. “It’s too fast.” You didn’t know whether she was right or not— You hadn’t done this six times— but you knew someone who would. “Babe, please.” You reached for me and found purchase in my arms. “You have to—mmm—check me.”
“What, here?” I glanced around the room, at all the prying eyes of the pregnant women who couldn’t look away. “Now?”
If the baby felt low before, you now felt as though you’d have to waddle around with your legs apart. “Yes. God, yes. Fuck!”
Another contraction started right on top of the last one and Sarah piped in with her assessment. “Ooh, double peak contractions? Yep, had that with baby number four. Came out sunny side up, that one.”
You knew she was trying to help, but you were going to put your money on the guy with the medical degree. “Please, babe. Just… do what you have to do.”
“Sorry ladies, perhaps you’ll consider this constitutes a medical emergency” I offer apologetically as I pull the shoulder straps down on your leotard. I briefly considered cutting the crotch area rather than peeling the full thing off your body, but I’d have to go back to the car to get scissors. You looked wide eyed, pleading at me as the stretchy fabric is pulled down over your shoulders, down to your breasts where the built in bra releases their heavy load and both milk loaded mammaries flop down onto your belly.
It takes a bit of work to tug the suit down over your belly, but you brace your arms onto my shoulders as I tug it down, finally feeling the stretchy material give, and peel down over your skin, the fabric more and more sticky and slick as it got closer and closer to your crotch.
Finally with a wet plop the soggy fabric sat at your feet. I help you step out and the fact you were as naked as the day you were born yourself soon hit you with a stark realisation, your cheeks and face turning redder than beet.
“Nothing none of us haven’t seen before when looking in the mirror love” came the voice of Sarah, snapping you out of it as the next contraction rose.
You rode it out against me, groaning low and holding tight to me. Another voice from the room piped up “keep it up girl, we’re rooting for you”. You had no idea who it came from, and frankly couldn’t care right now.
The feel of the baby grinding low in your pelvis had you thinking that you’d have a lot of witnesses pretty soon… but surely babies don’t come that quick ?
“Check me please…” you whimper as the contraction passes.
One of the ladies pushed over the exercise ball and between us we managed to get you down to your knees, bent over the ball exposing yourself inadvertently to the room.
I climb down to my hands and knees myself and apologising to the room with an announcement of “excuse me ladies” I plunge two fingers into you.
What the room likely wasn’t expecting was the pleasurable moan that escaped your mouth as my fingers plunged deeper and deeper. Whilst you were on autopilot you suddenly realised where you were and once more the red glow shone from your face.
It was a good thing you had your head buried into your arms—both out of embarrassment and because it muffled any further involuntary sounds you made at my touch. It stung a little as I probed around your cervix, but I made up for it with a quick circle around your clit before pulling my hand away.
“Seven, maybe eight centimetres, love,” I reported, causing you to whine and a few others to gasp. “You were right, Sarah; she’s close.” Then, to you, “Think you can get up?” The idea made your bones ache and you shook your head. “Probably wouldn’t make it to the hospital anyway.” Leaning down to whisper closer to your ear I said, “I think we’re going to have to do this here.”
The rational part of your brain knew I was right—the studio was a converted warehouse out in the middle of nowhere; it was out of the way but the rent was low and we decided we’d evaluate our options once the business took off and we had settled in with the babies for a while. But the irrational part hadn’t even accepted that you were actually in labour yet, much less that you were about to give birth at work, naked and with an audience.
The contractions were still roiling constantly, and you rolled your hips in small circles, the stability ball rolling with you. You continued to twist and rock until the pain intensified so much that any movement made you nauseous. Your stillness worried me, and I grabbed your hand once the panting and whimpering started.
“What’s wrong with her,” one of the younger new moms asked no one in particular, rubbing her early stages bump nervously.
“Transition?” someone guessed.
Sarah hummed in agreement. “That would be my guess.”
“Transitioning to what?”
As if in answer to her question, you threw your head back and cried out as pressure enveloped your midsection, pulling and condensing your muscles in a way that forced you to curl in on yourself. “I have to-hnghh-pushhh,” you groaned, squeezing my hand tightly as you turned your face to look at me. As a fitness professional, you were accustomed to having complete awareness and control over every muscle in your body, and I could see the fear and uncertainty in your eyes at losing it. “Can I? Can I push yet?”
I scrambled down to get into my knees in front of you, holding your hands as you look wide-eyed at me. You gasp again “I feel like I need to push, the head is right there.” I press my head against yours as I whisper “no pushing. Pant for me, you need to stretch.”
You give a nod and follow with the traditional “hoo-hoo” noises breathing your hot breath into my face.
“Good girl, just like that.” You grunt an acknowledgement as I feel your head wiggle from side to side.
Sarah comes with a cup of water from the dispenser, which I nod and thank her as I hold it out for you. Your hands are shaking but you manage to get hold of the cup and take a sip, taking big deep breaths between each pull on the cup.
It helps, you feel your focus returning and have 30 seconds of normality. Managing to lean back on your haunches you scan the room. “Didn’t think today would turn into a practical demonstration of how to stretch during labour… but don’t worry I won’t charge for the extra tutorial.” You manage a chuckle which was echoed around the room.
30 seconds is over all too soon though and you lean forward once more as the next contraction starts, forehead to forehead with me once more, your fingers digging into my palms as you vocalise loudly, all sense of decorum lost. It starts low as a moan and builds and builds louder and louder until you’re yelling out, but at its peak the noises are positive, yelling “yes, yes, come down baby.”
As quick as the earlier parts of labour had gone, this part seemed agonizingly slow. Everything felt simultaneously wide open and completely jammed—knees flared out and hips at a neutral downward angle, I imagined the shape of your taut skin shift as your uterus pressed in and forced the baby further and further down. And yet the pressure just kept building, compounding and never letting up until the fullness throbbed and stung and you couldn’t straighten out even if you wanted to.
“Mmm-it hurts,” you moaned against me, breathless and trembling as you attempted to keep some sense of composure. “Is it time yet? Can you- can you see anything?” you asked, almost desperately.
“Can’t really see much of anything like this,” I said, trailing my fingers down the arms you had flung around me and laughing softly.
“Right.” you didn’t really know where to go from there, seeing as how I was the only thing currently keeping you upright, but of course Sarah had it covered. She rolled the stability ball over, so that it was directly behind you. I loaned you a hand as you rolled over on your ass and sat against the ball. Your spine rested against the curve of the ball between Sarah’s legs, who had sat down on top of the ball to stop it pushing away, as you hooked your arms over her legs for stability.
You couldn’t hope to see over the vast expanse of your belly, but the nervous/excited whispers of the other pregnant women indicated that there was, in fact, something to see. I kneeled down again in front of you and some of the ladies shuffled around to maintain their view of the action. My eyes widened and you tried to reach down to feel, to have some sense of what was going on.
“What? What is it?”
“Baby’s definitely coming down,” I said, jogging over to the wall and coming back with one of the freestanding full length mirrors. I positioned it slightly off to the side and down so you could see but I’d still have access. Your stomach still casted a heavy shadow, and I turned on the flashlight on my phone and pointed it directly between your legs—it dinged, and you recognized it as the sound of a photo being taken. Now it was my turn to blush a little, but you just smiled and forced your knees apart a little wider.
When the next contraction started, and you frantically panted along with it, you watched as the skin surrounding your hole distend as something large and solid pressed against it from behind. Seeing the physical distortion almost made the pain worse and your jaw clenched even as your head lolled back and forth in a futile attempt to relax.
“Breathe, keep breathing,” I reminded you as you rocked and swayed. Then, once it was over and you had sagged back against the ball, I leaned in and inserted my fingers again. They didn’t get far. “Head’s right there. On the next contraction, if you’re ready, go ahead and try pushing.”
The time between your nod of understanding and the start of the next contraction seemed only like moments, your chin dropping to your chest and eyes closing as you focus on giving a push. I cheer you on “go on baby, push through it…” counting to 10 in my head. You focus on making grunting noises as you make the effort.
As we got close to the end of time I grab your hand. “Relax… breathe”. You gasp out your breath but the contraction is still there. “No… I need… I need…” you can’t get out the words as you’re back at it.
I place a hand on your knee - your hand grasping hold of it in response - as I clamber down between your legs.
My finger slipped in between the folds between your legs and followed the circle, stretching your skin. You howled in response. “Too tight, burning… babe… no… fire, fire, fire!”
I respond by squeezing your leg. “Pant. Let it stretch. Remember - marathon not a sprint.” I get a nod from you but the next contraction started all too soon.
Panting and pushing both hurt, and you alternated between which pain you preferred — when you panted, the pressure built up and your entire midsection seized like a charlie horse; when you pushed, the pressure eased but was replaced by a sharp burn that threatened to rip you open.
“Come on, baby, mummy needs you to come out now,” you whined as another contraction faded, clutching the sides of your belly.
“Not too quickly, though,” I added, eyes full of concern for the state of your gaping pussy.
“But not too slowly either.” you reached out and I took your offered hand. You gave it a gentle squeeze, assuring me that you were okay.
I noticed that you'd begun shifting restlessly and wincing with the movement even between contractions. “Need to change positions?” I guessed, and you nodded, grateful that I knew what you needed without you having to say anything. “Where would you be more comfortable, love?”
You wanted to say ‘in a hospital with an epidural’ but that had never been our plan anyway—although you could now see the appeal. “Maybe just… sitting?”
“You got it, girl,” Sarah said, moving you forward so your weight was off the ball before standing up off it herself.
I threw a towel over the ball and pulled you up enough to scoot your butt back onto the ball. The added support provided instant relief for your knees, and you twisted and rolled until finding a position that felt tolerable on your hips. You were bent forward slightly, legs straddling the ball and tummy spilling out over your lap as you rested your elbows on your thighs. Your hole was entirely obscured this way, pressed into the soft towel covering the stability ball, and as the next contraction started you instinctually rocked your hips, tilting them forward and back, causing the soft fabric to rub against your lips and clit, moaning deeply, though the sound certainly didn’t have a pained edge to it.
You didn’t even realize what you were doing until it was over and you noticed that most of the ladies were red-faced, some even averting their eyes. I saw the horrified look cross your face and knelt down, both blocking your view of them and giving my shoulder for you to bury your face into.
“It’s fine, love,” I soothed, running my fingertips down your back and nuzzling the top of your head. “A little pleasure takes the edge off the pain. Perfectly natural.”
Even if it was, you were too embarrassed to hump your way through another contraction and settled for just clinging to me. You pushed in short bursts, pausing and taking a breath when it got to be too much, and I praised you for how well you were listening to your body. It continued like this for several more contractions, until the latest push had you howling and you pulled away from me, leaning back as you threw your head back and giving me the first look between your legs in a while.
“That’s it, love, there’s our baby.” I scooted closer and placed my hands on either side of your bulging, straining lips. “You’re starting to crown.”
Your hand shot down round your belly and between your legs as you beamed up at me smiling when you felt the head of our first twin. My own hand joined yours, taking control around your lips once again as your hand rested atop of mine. You pulled up on your belly as the hand between your legs pinched into my fingers but ever so slowly you felt yourself opening. Time lost any meaning as you got into a cycle of contraction build up, roaring push, panting relaxation, roaring push again and finally the passing of the contraction.
The head bulged and slowly passed your lips. It was clearly agony for you as evidenced by your yelling and pinched face as you pushed, so I decided to help open up your hips a little.
I beckoned over two ladies, Sarah and another who she was talking to, and had them support your arms either side of you. Taking your weight between them I explained what I wanted to happen. There were general nods from the ladies and suddenly you were lifted, the exercise ball was rolled away and then you were lowered down so you ended up in a deep squat, the baby’s emerging head practically skimming the floor.
Your knees were level with your breasts which in turn opened your pelvis wide.
Sarah giggled “I'm sure it’s being this flexible got you in this predicament in the first place”
Neither you or I acknowledged her quip. We were both focusing on the head which was now fully crowned, at the peak of your stretch you just repeated “it burns, it burns” over and over again.
“Just a little more. This is the hardest part, honey,” Sarah said casually, as if we were just talking about getting in one last rep of a workout.
You weren’t ready to push when the next contraction came—your body was still adjusting to the girth of the head and you really didn’t want to tear, especially on the first delivery—and so you panted and whined and squeezed my offered hand as your body shook with the effort of holding back.
“Come on, girl, you gotta PUSH that baby out!” Sarah yelled, pulling you forward and putting even more pressure behind the emerging head.
You cried out and wrenched your arm from her grip and, losing your balance, fell backward onto your butt. I scrambled forward to keep you from completely bowling over and you clung to me, burying your face in my shoulder. “I wasn’t- I’m not… ready yet,” You managed quietly.
“That’s good, listen to your body.” I had one hand pressed into the middle of your back and the other moulded around the crown of the baby’s head, stroking my thumb gently around the edge of your stretched lips. “Take your time.”
One of the reasons we’d wanted a home birth in the first place was so that we wouldn’t have doctors and nurses orchestrating and constantly dictating your birth experience, and because it was now happening in a room full of people who either already have or are soon to have given birth, I really shouldn’t have been surprised that there would be… opinions interjected into the process. Still, I didn’t want that to ruin your focus—or worse, cause you injury—and I couldn’t help giving a withering glare the way of Sarah, who at which point threw up her hands, clearly backing off.
My attention turned back to you when your groan signalled the beginning of another contraction. “It’s okay, babe, do whatever you need to do,” I assured you again.
You nodded and gave a little experimental grunt of effort. It still hurt, but subsided quickly enough that you could handle it. You continued grunting in short bursts, vocalizing strained vowels with each one, and gradually you could feel the head slipping further out, your skin stretching agonizingly slowly over the baby’s brow, then nose, then lips and chin until finally I was cupping the entire head in my hand.
“Oh well done, mum,” I praised, turning to beam at you.
You gave me a tired smile and winced as the shoulder began to rotate and lock into place. “Need… up…” You pleaded when the next contraction started.
Somewhat reluctantly, I allowed Sarah to help you back to the balls of your feet. “Ow, ow, fuck, OW!” You yelled as the shoulders ballooned behind your opening. This time you were ready to just get the baby out, and you put your chin to your chest and bore down with as much strength as you had left. You gasped at the burning white-hot sting as the shoulders passed, and then the rest of the baby shot out quickly into my hands.
You fell forward onto your knees in the puddle of fluid you’d just expelled as I handed you our first baby. “A girl,” You whispered on a bit of a sob, tracing her little arm down to her little fist and little fingers. “You certainly didn’t feel this small coming out of me.”
The immediate aftermath was chaotic. The baby was screaming and wailing, its messy body pressed against your chest. The women from the class - all of them - surging forward and crowding around us.
You’re sitting there wide eyed and bewildered in the ‘what just happened’ moments of new motherhood and I’m trying my best to follow procedure and make sure everything looked normal following the birth - thankfully everything seemed ok in that regard aside from the slightly early birth caused because of the fact you were bringing forth two babies into the world.
I also realised I was on a bit of a timer, the second labour would start soon, and I needed to fetch my emergency tools from the car. I wrapped you up in a few towels - adrenaline kicking in meant you were shivering - and asked the ladies to keep an eye on you. Telling you I’d be back, I made sure you nodded understanding before I left, as you were in a complete daze.
I dashed out and grabbed my bag from the car, running full speed back into the room. I had to force my way through the crowd of gawking mothers-to-be, but settled back down next to you to be greeted by our first child happily nursing from you.
I took a moment to cut the baby’s cord and listened to her chest with a stethoscope along with a few other rudimentary checks when you grabbed my arm.
“It’s starting again.”
The pain did a little to ground you back to the present moment, but it all still felt so surreal. Our baby girl was warm and waxy and wrinkled and the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and the light pull at your nipple reminded you that our journey together was just beginning. And you would have been content to stay here like this forever, just you and her, but her sibling had a thing or two to say to the contrary.
Your belly hardened with another contraction, but the intensity had lessened considerably and you were able to breathe through it with minimal disruption to the baby in your arms. You shifted slightly, opening your hips a bit to the building pressure, and released several slow, measured breaths, waiting for your body to adjust to yet another baby trying to make its way through.
You wanted me to check to see if I could feel where the baby was yet, but everything was so sore and the idea of any more physical sensation than necessary was unthinkable.
“You’ll know what to do,” I said, answering the unasked question in your eyes. “Just like the first time.”
You stayed in this kneeling position through several more contractions until our daughter was done nursing. “Maybe daddy would like to hold you for a little while,” you said passing her over to me, both so I could have some skin-to-skin contact time and so you could be free to move. The second twin still felt pretty high, even with the contractions ramping back up again, and you wanted to do what you could to help speed the process along before you got too exhausted.
With more than a few helping hands from the ladies surrounding us, you put your shaky legs under you and got to your feet. You leaned on them heavily for support as we paced slowly back and forth along the stretching mats, pausing every few minutes for you to bend into a slight squat and pant through another contraction. The baby in my arms occupied much of my attention, but you still caught my eye a few times and gave me a thumbs up that things were going okay from your side as well.
After another 20 minutes or so, it became too much and you had them settle you back down in front of me. You whispered a few tired thanks, both for the assistance and because someone had removed the soiled towels and placed fresh ones down for you, so when you knelt back down it was on warm, soft, dry fabric. You leaned forward on your hands and rocked back and forth through several more contractions, now moaning and vocalizing as the baby moved further and further down. It was familiar and yet also you’d already forgotten how badly this part hurt.
I noticed you’d started holding your breath before you did and asked, “Is it time?”
You nodded, but your head was hung low between your shoulders, forehead almost brushing the floor, so you gave verbal confirmation. “I think so.”
Now the question was whether the baby had come head down, or whether it was breech.
During all of our scans leading up to the birth, both babies had been head down but it wasn’t unknown that the second baby could shift when it was given the freedom of movement after its sibling had left the roost so to speak.
I got you to get into a position which to be blunt was almost lewd for what I wanted to do - face down, ass up - but it allowed you time to rest and recover before the need to push came on you again.
Your belly still touched the floor between your knees, even with half of its load being evacuated - testament to exactly how big you had been - which I will admit seemed slightly unusual to my experience, but I paid it no heed, and especially didn’t want to mention it out loud in case it got you concerned - given the circumstances it certainly wouldn’t help things.
You were huffing and puffing big gulps of breath as you couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of your position “can’t you at least get this one out before you want to put another one in, because frankly I’d prefer that”
This was my time to blush as the gaggle of hens in the room all burst into laughter. It didn’t last long though until your belly visibly tensed up and you groaned loudly once more.
I handed the first baby off to Sarah asking her to lend a hand as I got down onto my knees to get into position.
“Breathe in” I said as my fingers sunk into you. You tensed at the intrusion but knew it was needed. Being mid contraction and fully dilated I felt the baby immediately, deep past your cervix and confirmed that it was head first. Whilst a breech baby wouldn’t be unusual it did help matters.
I also felt a spongy texture for a split second before the second bag of waters ruptured which in turn covered me chest to knees in watery mess. It shot out of you like a hosepipe with the pressure of your push, and the amount of fluid passed was way in excess of the first baby. It seems we found out which of the two siblings had been hogging all the blankets in your womb.
As I did what I could to mop up the mess with towels and dry myself off as best I could to the sound of giggling women in the background, I noticed your belly, now noticeably smaller, hanging under your frame.
You craned your head to sneak a peek at me after the ladies started giggling and let out a breathless laugh yourself. “Sorry for the mess. Guess I owe you a new shirt.”
My eyes shifted to the baby nestled in Sarah’s arms and then back to your still labouring form. “I think we’re square.” You laughed again, but it turned into a groan and my focus returned. “You’re at ten, love; go ahead and push whenever you’re ready.”
You rocked back and forth a few times as the contraction built, then sunk down a bit to lean into a push. Everything was still loosened from the first baby, but this baby was definitely bigger than its twin—although maybe it just felt that way—and it was like the first time all over again. “Ooh, babe, it hurts. Why does it still hurt this much?”
“It’s normal,” I assured you. “Your body’s already been through quite a lot.”
“But it feels bigger,” You whined, resting back in child’s pose with your head buried in your forearms.
I hesitated, unsure if I should tell you that it probably WAS bigger. “It’s not uncommon for one twin to receive a disproportionately large amount of the nutrients,” I said vaguely.
“So it is bigger. Just say it’s bigger.”
I rubbed my hands sympathetically up and down your thighs. “It’s bigger.”
You drew in a deep breath and patted your somewhat deflated stomach. “You better be nice to your sister and your mummy forever,” you warned. It almost felt like a retort when the next contraction was like an ice pick to your lower back and you shot up onto your hands, twisting and wriggling to try and relieve the sudden stabbing pressure.
“Babe, my back!” you gasped, arching awkwardly and barely able to catch your breath.
I shuffled forward until my hips were flush with yours and wrapped my fingers around your hips, pressing against your sacrum with my thumbs. You whimpered a bit, sitting back against your heels even more and holding your belly with one hand, and I pressed harder.
The pain in your spine didn’t go away, but my hold on you provided enough firm counterpressure that it was at least tolerable. You spent the next few contractions pushing, hard, desperate to move the baby into a more favourable position. You shook and cried out with each effort, a chorus of encouragement around you, until finally something gave way and shifted and the baby’s head locked into a more natural position in your hips.
You sagged in relief, but it was short-lived. Now that the head was fully engaged, it was ready to come out. Right now.
The urge to push once the head was engaged was massively different to the one that was on you whilst moving the head down into its engaged position, your body compelled you to do nothing else but focus on the downward pressure. Our first daughter cried and cried as you joined her in your wailing sounds, her own noises seeming to spur you on.
Sarah and the other mothers to be desperately tried to shush her, rock her and coo to her, but you managed a gasping shout out to them to let her cry, it was motivating you.
Your breasts were also reacting to the cries of your child – streams of milk were now flowing down as you pushed, and whilst a little confusing at first – you soon got used to the added sensation, and paid no heed to it, other than the occasional rub and dab from me as I wiped off the liquid between pushes.
“That’s it, nice strong pushes. I know you’re tired now, second time doing this today, but with luck, the second one will be easier, now you know what to do.”
Your eyes looked up at me, not wanting to sound despondent, but there was something sneaking into your voice. “Its harder than last time… I don’t think… I don’t think I’m doing things any differently, but you said this baby was bigger. I thought they were twins… surely –“ you gasped as another strong push came over you until you could finish your sentence “- surely they’re the same size.”
I brushed your hair back as the effort you were putting in produced sweat which was now dripping down your face. “Let’s just focus on what your body naturally wants to do and get it done.” I kissed your forehead as you went back to pushing. “Though let’s not hope we have an Arnie and Danny in twins situation going on…”
You groan “You laugh but…” as you focus back on pushing.
I feel down between your legs to gauge your progress, and part of me feels a little touch of panic as I realise that the same amount of effort you had put in from the last delivery had not produced anywhere near as much movement as before. It may be a long, drawn-out process after all.
“Let's get you upright and back on your feet, maybe gravity might help my exhausted wife.”
If your mind was not so singularly focused on getting this baby out of you, you might have noticed the tinge of anxiety in my voice at the suggestion. As it was, your body was a bit on autopilot and it spared no thought to being brought to its feet. At least, not until the added weight increased the pressure exponentially and you immediately hunched over, a hand gripping the underside of your belly desperately, as if that could relieve some of the tension in your core.
When the next contraction started—before you had a chance to adjust to the new position—it knocked the wind out of you. You bore down with the pain, your pushes frenzied and reckless, but even then, you could not bring the head to appear. Contraction after contraction you pushed, and any meagre progress made immediately retracted as soon as you released your efforts.
“Stretching,” I promised. “You’re just stretching. It’s slow going, but you can do this.” You didn’t know whether I was trying to reassure you or myself.
You continued to throw all you had into every push, but the frustration was getting to you and the last round had you wailing—a wounded sound only made by dying animals and labouring women. “It’s not working! It’s not- I’m not- fuck!” You groaned your way through another round of pushing, but tears of discouragement were gathering in the corners of your eyes. I wrapped my arms around you, held your weight as you clung to me, swayed with you until you had calmed down.
“Alright?” I asked when you tilted your head up to me. You nodded and I leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “That’s my girl.”
“I have a suggestion,” Sarah said, and you were willing to try anything.
She led you over to the pull up bar and fitted it with the arm straps used for suspension ab exercises. You hooked your elbows into the slings as she lengthened them as far as they would go. With some assistance, you settled into a wide squat and gripped tight to the now taut straps, in much the same position birthing women have been taking up for centuries, though usually with silks and linens hanging from the ceiling.
Some ancient, primal strength awakened in you, and with the next contraction, all parts of your mind and body finally felt in sync, focused, determined. Your sounds, too, were deep and meditative and resonated throughout the room. Your forearms rippled and flexed with your grip as you pulled and pushed, pulled and pushed, pulled and pushed.
“That’s it. Push, baby, push!”
You finished out the contraction trembling with a final cry, and then slumped forward a bit, panting. You didn’t want to fall out of position, so I moved the mirror back in front of you. There, right at the bottom of your red, angry, stubbornly tight opening was a little dime sized tuft of dark hair.
I knelt down next to you, my wide smile reflecting your own as I asked, “Ready to have this baby?”
Despite your growing exhaustion you can’t help but grin, finally seeing progress. The next contraction hit you quickly but you pushed with it, your eyes focusing on the growing dark spot between your legs. As you’d already experienced earlier the head grew visible and retreated again as each contraction built and released, but what was different this time was that you were quite simply exhausted, each push sapping more and more of your energy.
Hanging suspended did give you some opportunity to rest between contractions, and you visibly sagged at the end of each one, panting deeply.
I took an opportunity to feed you water and to chew on some sweets between contractions - this helped boost your energy to the point where 30 minutes later the head was finally passed through enough that it didn’t retreat when releasing the push.
Your hands and arms shook as the adrenaline pumped through you, anticipating the stretch and burn once more. Your body did not disappoint, the burn between your legs building and building as the next push was forced onto you.
Your gasps turned to screams when suddenly there was a surge and the head hung there between your legs, your face looking up in shock - even though you’d experienced it only recently with the first baby, the sensation still felt completely alien to you.
Your hand reached down instinctively to feel, but it was caught up in the nylon cable. I quickly took up the reigns, kneeling in front of you to support the emerging head.
“That’s a big head,” I remarked with a somewhat amazed huff, but I didn’t have to tell you that. My thumbs circled around the neck, found the cord wrapped loosely there, and quickly and expertly slipped it over the baby’s head. It was already turning, its face now facing your right thigh as the shoulders lodged into position to pass through your hips. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You nodded, but wasn’t quite sure you were ready. You let one contraction pass, catching your breath and steeling your nerves as the insistent pressure once again mounted behind your opening. When the next contraction pulled at the weight already hanging half out of me, you pushed with it, releasing a guttural groan. Despite the looseness that came from already having fully delivered one baby, and now the head of another, the shoulders still felt impossible. You heaved, I tugged, but neither of our bodies gave way.
“What if it’s stuck!” you half panted, half screamed. Luckily, you had a literal doctor between your legs.
“Help me get her out of this thing,” I said to the ladies fluttering about, gently but urgently.
Together, we pulled you up out of the straps; your knees and hips and back were sore from staying in the awkward position for so long and you immediately hunched over as soon as you were upright. At least it gave you the opportunity to finally feel the head of our second twin. “Hi, baby. Oh you’re so big and strong, aren’t you? Don’t worry, mummy and daddy are going to get you out real soon, okay?” You looked to me for confirmation that this was true, and I nodded in agreement.
I guided you onto hands and knees again, then helped you pull one knee up and out, foot on the floor. You looked like you were about to take off in a track race, and the image almost made you giggle. But another contraction descended upon you and swallowed up any laughter that might have been.
“Alright, I need you to push, baby. Push as hard as you can.”
You gasped as you felt my fingers slip in around the baby’s neck, but then bore down as instructed, with everything you had left. You were vaguely aware of the subtle shift of the shoulders as I dislodged them from whatever they’d caught on, but more than that you felt the full sting of both the broad shoulders and my fingers still wrapped around them prying open your hole to unimaginable widths. You howled out a long pain-filled moan, the sudden blazing inferno taking you off guard. And then it was like your body spasmed, forcing the pressure inward on itself and propelling the arms, belly, butt, legs of the baby to splash out into my arms amidst yet another rain of fluids.
The cheers were loud and echoed around the sparse room as I passed our son to you between your legs.
“One of each,” you remarked, in awe with tears streaming down your face, and I nodded, equally amazed. Then, looking down at his perfect face that looked mischievous even now, “You’re gonna be a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”
Over the course of the next 20 minutes or so, both babies are swarmed and cooed over by the room full of hormonal women. Plenty of tears were shed, and I oversaw you deliver both placentas, thankfully everything was as it should be.
We took stock of the situation - I’d most certainly need to dash off home and bring something to transport the babies in - along with some pads to keep you tidy when going home.
You sit with a baby to each breast, our son noticeably larger than our daughter when next to each other, but each were giving it their all for their first proper feed.
Your eyes scan the scene around you, dirty and bloody towels littering the place pooling up various fluids. You shake your head as you finally announce “I think we’re going to need to pay the cleaner a bit more for this…”
That’s it, let it stretch. Just breathe for a moment. Baby’s head’s right there. It’s burning, I know it’s burning, but you’re almost done, you’re almost there. Little pushes for me now. Nice and slow. Good pushing, here it comes! Just a little more - get ready to meet your baby!
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Fern was already pregnant when they started dating: her cute little belly was irresistible for Michael. He didn’t know he had a breeding kink till he started dating her.
holding her belly while he sank his cock into her was so hot. He lived the looks and the conversations as he told people that it wasn’t his, that he was going to be doing the fathering.
little did Michael know, but Fern had made the decision that while Michael would be raising her next three babies, there was no way he was going to be the sperm donor. She liked to be fucked by huge muscly guys, and he definitely didn’t fit that camp.
Quick note before we start: Reader is a child life specialist, so she works with kids and families in the hospital to make scary medical things feel a little less scary. Also, present-day Reader will be pregnant in this fic. It’s very much soft/established-marriage pregnancy content, but if pregnancy fics aren’t your thing, totally okay to skip this one. Protect your peace, besties.
Summary: Years before PTMC, before night shift, before anyone would mistake your marriage for a new crush, Jack Abbot met you in a military hospital hallway outside room 417. He was tired of being treated like something breakable. You were the first person all day who didn’t.
Warnings: references to limb loss/prosthetics appointment, military hospital setting, injury recovery, emotional vulnerability, Jack being deeply allergic to pity, child scared to see an injured parent, soft meet-cute energy
Author’s Note: Welcome to You Never Asked, aka the secretly-married Jack Abbot fic my brain latched onto and refused to let go of. This prologue starts before PTMC, before the workplace chaos, before everyone else is hilariously late to the truth. It’s the beginning of Jack and Reader: a military hospital hallway, a stuffed rabbit, a child life specialist who sees too much, and Jack trying very hard to pretend he is not immediately interested. This one is softer and quieter, but the present-day chapters will bring the secret marriage, shift-change overlap, Robby knowing everything because of course he does, and Jack being absolutely normal about his pregnant wife. Which is to say: not normal at all.
Xoxo, Del
Prologue: Before The Pitt
Jack Abbot hated these appointments.
He hated the waiting room. He hated the clipboard. He hated the fluorescent lights and the cheerful laminated signs reminding him to ask questions, as if he had ever needed encouragement to interrogate a medical professional doing something inefficient near his body.
Mostly, he hated the way appointments made him feel like a thing being adjusted.
A socket.
A gait.
A residual limb.
A pain scale.
Useful words. Clinical words. Words he understood perfectly and still resented.
By the time he left prosthetics, his jaw ached from clenching it.
The new fit was better. That was the irritating part. The adjustment had helped. His stride felt cleaner, less pull through his hip, less pressure where the skin had been threatening to break down.
He should have been pleased.
Instead, he stood in the hallway of the military hospital with his discharge papers folded in one hand and the particular fury of a man who had gotten what he needed and still hated needing it.
He was supposed to go home.
Instead, he went up two floors to visit Miller.
Then Torres.
Then maybe Kline, if Kline wasn’t asleep or pretending to be asleep to avoid talking to people.
Jack told himself it was because they were his people. Because visiting was practical. Because nobody in recovery needed another civilian standing at their bedside making sad eyes and saying thank you for your service, like grief was customer service.
It was not because the hospital was easier when he had a reason to stay inside it.
It was not because outside the building, everyone looked too long or too quickly away.
Inside, at least, people had the decency to be clinical about it.
Usually.
Outside, there were softer voices. Averted eyes. Too much gratitude. Too much careful space. Men who had once shoulder-checked him in doorways now moved around him like he was made of something breakable. Women at grocery stores looked at him like he had carried tragedy home in his hands and might drop it if startled.
Jack did not want to be pitied.
He did not want to be inspirational.
He did not want someone else’s discomfort dressed up as kindness and handed to him like a casserole.
He wanted his body to be his body without the whole world acting like it had become a public service announcement.
He turned the corner toward the rehab wing and stopped.
A little girl was sitting on the floor outside room 417.
She couldn’t have been older than seven. Maybe eight. Her hair was in two uneven braids, one already half coming loose, and she had a stuffed rabbit clutched so tightly against her chest that one of its ears had folded over its face.
You sat cross-legged beside her.
That was the first thing Jack noticed.
Not the badge. Not the child life kit open on the floor near your knee. Not the laminated cards spread between you with pictures of IV poles, monitors, oxygen tubing, and bandages.
You.
Soft scrubs. Cardigan sleeves pushed to your elbows. Hair slipping loose near your cheek. Warm eyes focused completely on the little girl beside you, like the hallway could fill with officers, alarms, doctors, ghosts, and you would still make sure that child had somewhere safe to look.
Jack noticed that you were beautiful.
It hit him plainly, almost inconveniently.
Then you started talking, and the beauty became the least interesting thing about you.
“Your dad might look a little different than he did the last time you saw him,” you said gently.
The little girl’s fingers tightened around the rabbit.
You noticed, but you didn’t rush to fix it.
“He has some bandages,” you continued. “And some machines near his bed. The machines are there to help the nurses and doctors take care of him. They can look scary if you don’t know what they’re for.”
The little girl looked down at one of the laminated cards. “Will he be asleep?”
“He might be,” you said.
You touched the edge of the card with one finger and turned it slightly so the little girl could see it better.
“Or he might be awake and tired,” you added. “Sometimes bodies need a lot of rest after they get hurt.”
The girl’s mouth trembled. “What if he doesn’t look like my dad?”
Something moved behind Jack’s ribs.
He should have kept walking.
He didn’t.
You leaned a little closer, your voice low enough that the whole hallway seemed to quiet around it.
“Then you can take your time,” you told her. “You don’t have to decide how you feel right away. You can look. You can ask questions. You can step back out with me if you need to.”
The little girl sniffed.
You touched the rabbit’s folded ear and smoothed it down.
“He’s still your dad,” you said. “Even if some things look different today.”
Jack looked away.
Too late.
You had already seen him.
Your eyes lifted to his, and for one strange second, Jack had the unnerving sense that you had caught more than a man standing in a hallway.
You had caught the flinch.
You did not soften your face with pity.
You did not glance down at his leg.
You did not give him the careful, wounded-veteran smile people used when they wanted him to know his existence moved them.
You just looked at him.
Then your mouth curved slightly.
“You need something?” you asked.
Jack blinked once. “No.”
You stayed seated on the floor beside the little girl. “Okay.”
Jack waited.
You tilted your head. “Then you’re hovering.”
His eyebrows lifted.
The little girl looked at him, then back at you.
“I don’t hover,” Jack said.
You nodded toward him, solemn as a judge. “What do you think?”
The little girl studied him with the ruthless honesty of children and commanding officers.
“He’s hovering,” she decided.
Your smile widened.
Jack should have hated that.
He didn’t.
“I was walking by,” he said.
You raised your brows. “You stopped.”
“People stop,” Jack said, mirroring your expression.
“Near doorways,” you replied. “Usually for a reason.”
The little girl’s rabbit drooped in her lap as she watched the exchange, her fear interrupted by curiosity.
Jack looked at you for another beat.
Most people in the hospital now handled him carefully. Not obviously. That would have been easier to despise. They did it in little ways. Softer voices. Averted eyes. Too much gratitude. Too much space.
You did none of that.
You looked at him like he was just a man who had been caught doing something mildly annoying in a hallway.
It was the first normal thing that had happened to him all day.
Maybe all month.
“I’m visiting someone,” he said.
“Ah.” You nodded. “Then you’re hovering with purpose.”
The little girl giggled.
Jack’s gaze flicked to her.
You noticed that too.
“See?” you said softly to the girl. “People can be nervous and still go into rooms.”
The child looked toward the closed door.
Jack understood then that you had not been teasing him only for sport.
You had used him.
Efficiently.
He should have minded that too.
He didn’t.
The door opened a few inches, and a nurse stepped out. Her eyes went to you first.
“He’s ready when you are,” the nurse said.
You nodded, then turned back to the little girl.
“Do you want to bring Rabbit in first,” you asked, “or should I carry him?”
The girl hesitated.
Jack stood very still.
Then she held the rabbit out to you. “You.”
“I can do that,” you said.
You took the rabbit carefully, as if it were a sacred thing and not a toy with one plastic eye scratched nearly white. Then you gathered your cards with one hand and stood.
Jack was tall enough, broad enough, and used to people adjusting around him.
You didn’t.
You rose into the space like you belonged in it, child life badge swinging from your lanyard, one hand full of laminated hospital equipment pictures, the other holding Rabbit by his soft, battered middle.
As you passed Jack, you paused.
“Try not to scare anyone else while you’re hovering with purpose,” you said.
His mouth twitched before he could stop it. “I’ll do my best.”
You gave him one last look, quick and assessing and entirely unintimidated.
“Do better than that,” you said.
Then you turned back to the little girl.
Your voice changed immediately. Not fake. Not sugary. Just warmer.
“Ready?” you asked.
The girl reached for your hand.
Jack watched her take it. He watched the way your fingers closed around hers. Not tight. Not leading. Just there.
An offered thing.
Steady enough to trust. Gentle enough not to trap.
Jack had seen plenty of people mistake softness for weakness.
This was not weak.
He could see it in the pause before you answered hard questions. In the careful breath you took before choosing the next right words. In the way you let the little girl be afraid without trying to rush her out of it.
You were not calm because none of it touched you.
You were calm because it did.
You walked the little girl into room 417.
Jack watched the door close behind you.
For a moment, the hallway seemed louder than it had before.
Monitors. Footsteps. A cart rattling somewhere near the elevators. Someone laughing too hard at the nurses’ station because hospitals made people laugh strangely when the alternative was worse.
Jack looked down at the papers in his hand.
Then he kept walking.
Miller was awake when Jack got there, which was unfortunate for both of them.
He was sitting propped against three pillows, one arm braced in a sling, bruising yellowed along the side of his face. His grin appeared the second Jack stepped through the door.
“You’re late,” Miller said.
Jack pulled the visitor chair closer with his foot. “You’re ugly.”
Miller smiled. “Doctors say it’s temporary.”
“They’re lying,” Jack replied.
Miller laughed, then winced. “Still charming. Good to know the leg didn’t take that from you.”
Jack sat.
Miller watched him for half a second too long.
Jack hated that too.
“How’d the appointment go?” Miller asked.
“Fine,” Jack said.
Miller squinted at him. “Fine as in fine, or fine as in you’re being an asshole about it?”
Jack looked at him.
Miller grinned. “Second one.”
Jack leaned back in the chair and stretched his bad leg out carefully enough that Miller’s eyes tracked the movement despite his best effort not to.
“Fit’s better,” Jack said.
Miller nodded once. “Good.”
That was why Jack liked him.
No speech. No pity. No swelling orchestral score.
Just good.
A comfortable silence settled for almost thirty seconds.
Then Jack ruined it.
“Who was the woman in the scrubs and cardigan?” Jack asked.
Miller’s grin returned slowly.
Jack immediately regretted every decision that had led him into this room.
“You’re going to have to narrow that down,” Miller said.
Jack gave him a flat look. “Outside 417. With the kid.”
“Oh,” Miller said, brightening. “The pretty one who can smell bullshit a mile away?”
Jack looked toward the door.
Miller’s grin widened. “Yeah. She got you.”
“She was preparing a kid to see her father.”
“And catching you hovering.”
“Hovering with purpose,” Jack corrected.
Miller laughed, then winced. “God, she really did get you.”
Jack looked toward the door.
Miller made a sound of deep, delighted pain. “You got called out by Child Life.”
Jack sighed. “She was working with a kid outside 417.”
“Yeah,” Miller said, softer now. “That’s Harris’s daughter.”
Jack looked back at him.
Miller’s expression shifted, humor thinning around the edges. “She’s been scared to go in. Mom’s trying, but it’s a lot.”
Jack thought of the rabbit in your hand.
“She any good?” he asked.
Miller huffed. “You saw her, didn’t you?”
That was answer enough.
Jack looked toward the hallway again.
Miller was quiet for a beat.
Then, because he was Miller, he added, “Her name’s on her badge, you know.”
“It was flipped,” Jack said.
Miller pressed his lips together. “Tragic.”
Jack gave him a flat look.
Miller smiled like a man who had found a reason to live another day.
“You want me to tell you?” Miller asked.
“No,” Jack replied immediately.
Miller stared at him for half a second. Then his grin went dangerous.
“Oh,” Miller said.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Miller raised his hands, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You said oh.”
Miller settled deeper into his pillows. “Because there was an oh.”
Jack stood.
Miller laughed and winced again. “Careful, Abbot. She’s nice.”
Jack paused at the foot of the bed.
Miller’s smile gentled into something more knowing.
“And she’s not scared of you,” Miller said.
Jack’s fingers tightened once around the folded discharge papers.
No.
He could still hear your voice. Not gentle because you were afraid of what might break. Gentle because you knew things broke and still deserved to be touched carefully.
“No,” Jack said. “She isn’t.”
Miller watched him for another second.
Then he told Jack your name.
Jack did not ask him to repeat it.
He heard it clearly the first time.
He found you again forty minutes later near the elevators.
Jack told himself that was not why he had taken the long way out.
It was a hospital. There were only so many exits.
Technically.
You stood beside the coffee cart with your bag hooked over one shoulder, flipping through a stack of laminated cards while the line moved at the pace of federal infrastructure.
The stuffed rabbit was gone.
Returned to its owner, probably.
Jack found himself glad about that before he could decide it was a ridiculous thing to be glad about.
You looked up before he could walk past.
Your mouth curved. “Hovering again?”
Jack stopped beside you like he had meant to be there. “Leaving.”
“Near the coffee cart?” you asked.
Jack shrugged a shoulder, “Scenic route.”
Your eyes narrowed with amusement. “Through caffeine?”
Jack glanced at the menu board, then back at you. “You drink coffee?”
“Religiously,” you said.
That should not have pleased him.
It did.
Jack slid one hand into his pocket because apparently his body had decided to act casual even if the inside of his chest had become a tactical failure.
“Good,” he said.
You waited.
Jack waited too, because he was stubborn and because some doomed part of him wanted to see what you would do with silence.
You tilted your head. “Was that the whole question?”
His mouth twitched. “No.”
“Okay.” You shifted the cards against your chest. “I’m invested now.”
Jack looked at you for half a second longer than he should have.
“Have coffee with me,” he said.
Your eyebrows lifted. “That wasn’t a question.”
“No,” Jack said. “It was an invitation.”
You studied him, and for the first time all day, he did not feel assessed like a patient.
He felt assessed like a man who had walked up to a beautiful woman and made his interest known.
It was inconveniently terrifying.
You looked calm.
Jack did not trust that.
He had already seen what your calm could do.
“You always this confident?” you asked.
“When I’m right,” Jack answered.
“And you’re right about me wanting coffee with you?”
Jack let one shoulder lift. “Religiously seemed promising.”
You laughed then.
Not politely. Not because you thought he needed it.
A real laugh, warm and quick, and Jack felt it somewhere lower than his ribs.
“I didn’t say yes,” you reminded him.
Jack raised his brows, “You also didn’t say no.”
The line moved forward. You did not. Jack counted that as a victory.
“You don’t even know my name,” you said.
He did.
Miller had told him. Jack had held onto it with the grim determination of a man refusing to admit he had been handed something he wanted.
But he looked at your badge anyway.
This time, it was facing out.
Jack said your name like he had only just learned it. Like it had not been sitting in his head for the last half hour.
Your expression shifted, pleased despite yourself.
“And you are?” you asked.
“Jack,” he answered.
“Just Jack?”
“For coffee, yeah.”
You looked at him for another beat, making him stand there in it.
Making him wait.
He did not fidget.
He was proud of that.
Finally, you reached into the side pocket of your bag, pulled out a pen and a stack of Post-Its, and you wrote your number.
Jack watched you do it with an amount of attention he would later claim was unnecessary.
You handed it to him. “Coffee. Sometime.”
Jack took the Post It.
Your fingers brushed.
It was nothing.
It was not nothing.
“Sometime,” he repeated.
Your eyes flicked over him, bright and unafraid. “Try not to hover until then.”
Jack tucked the paper into his jacket pocket. “I’ll do my best.”
You started toward the elevators, then glanced back.
“Do better than that, Jack,” you said.
He stood there after you left, one hand still in his pocket, the other resting over the Post-It like it might disappear if he stopped paying attention.
For the first time all day, he did not feel like something being adjusted.
He felt like something had started.
Years later, people at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center would make a hundred wrong assumptions before they ever made the right one.
They would see you walk into the ER with your child life badge, your soft sweaters, and your calm voice, and they would see Jack Abbot look up like some part of him had known you were coming before the doors opened.
They would know you by your first name because children trusted first names faster than last ones.
They would know Jack mostly as Abbot because the ER had a way of sanding people down to the sharpest syllable.
They would not think to put the two together.
You worked days.
Jack worked nights.
Most of what anyone saw of you together happened in the seams: shift change, late consults, cafeteria overlap, the parking garage, the brief handoff spaces where one version of the hospital exhaled and another one started breathing.
They would see you pass him in the hall and fix his twisted ID badge without breaking your sentence.
They would see Jack let you.
They would think, " Oh.”
Interesting.
Robby would think, finally.
They would think it was new.
They would think it was a crush.
They would think he was learning how to be soft around you.
They would not know about room 417.
They would not know about Rabbit.
They would not know that the first time Jack saw you, he had been standing in a military hospital hallway with his leg aching and his pride worse, pretending he was not hovering.
They would not know you had looked at him and seen a man instead of a wound.
They would not know that one day, he would marry you.
That one day, years after that hallway, you would stand beside him with a ring on your finger and his son tucked beneath your ribs, a name folded between the two of you like a secret.
That Robby would know.
That everyone else would be late.
They would only know what they saw.
Jack watching you from across the ER.
You rolling your eyes when he hovered.
And the thing between you looking so much like the beginning of love that no one thought to ask if it had already survived years of it.
I genuinely love the concept of not being able to stop pushing. You don’t want to feel your birth canal stretched from within but you can’t stop it, your body is forcing you to push this huge baby out against your will. You try to hold it back, try to close your legs or grip the bedsheets, but the urge is so strong that you can’t ignore it. Even as the growing bulge between your legs starts burn deeper, you continue to bear down until you’re crying out, “I’M PUSHIIIIINNNGGG!!”
Misunderstanding of the century: your immortal partner accidentally says the wrong name during sex but you don't know that you're reincarnated and that name was yours in your previous life
The doctor tells you that your baby is way too big to birth, but you're determined to do it naturally and at home, no matter what. You go weeks overdue, than months, but you refuse an induction or c-section. Finally you go into labor, but only when you start to feel the enormity of your 35 pound child bulging at your cervix do you realize that you aren't going to be able to push it out without major consequences.
When I heard that I would be delivering an abnormally large child, I became even more determined to deliver my child naturally. No epidural, no painkiller, no midwife, no support. 2 months overdue, I waddled into my house. I took off my tight belt , that was painfully pushing in my protruding belly. The doctor had told me that if i ever crowned during labor, i would crown for 20 cm instead of the regular 10 cm. I sat down on my bed, trying to deal with the minor cramps that had been coming for the past few days. But today's cramps were different. I had a feeling that I would be delivering my 35 pound child today.
The cramps rapidly grew worse. A shot of pain hit my abdomen as i resisted the urge to groan. Not even 2 minutes pass by as another contraction hits me, this time significantly worse. I quietly whimpered, still determined to deliver my baby alone. The pain and contraction grew like no other, as i felt my baby get pushed further down my birth canal. I moaned in pain as i felt my baby making its way down my birth canal, which was undoubtedly too small for him. Another contraction hits me, and i moan loudly in pain, before covering my mouth. The baby had almost reached the bottom of my canal now.
My body, determined to get the baby out, threw the worst contraction at me. I bit my hand, trying my hardest not to scream. I was in absolute misery, but I still believed i could deliver my baby alone. The baby finally made its way to the bottom of my canal. I got the overwhelming urge to push. I pushed until i could almost pass out. The pain was overwhelming. "get this thing out of me..." I moaned in pain. The cycle of overwhelming pain and repeated pushing continued, but yielded no result. My throbbing pussy begged for relief, but I knew, that I was nowhere close to done yet.
Another contraction came over me, and I pushed with all my might. I kept both of my hands over my belly and pressed down HARD. The pain for too much for me to handle The giant baby made its way down my tight pussy, as i inevitably screamed in pain. I kept my hands pressed down, so that the baby would not slip back in, while my body was aching for relief. I whimpered and groaned in pain. By far the worst contraction hit me, and I moaned loudly in pain while pushing down my belly even harder. Still, I had barely crowned. Only then did I realize that this birth would be way harder than I had anticipated. My moans sounded like cries for help, as i pushed, with both my body and my hands.
With my pussy burning on pain, I realized that I would crown the next push. I pushed hard, with pain unimaginable. I felt myself slowly tearing, but i knew i couldn't back down. I screamed as i pushed harder and felt myself tear. When the contraction calmed down, i tried to relax, repetitively moaning in pain. Before I could adjust to the pain I was already dealing with, my final contraction hit me. I screamed "GET THIS OUT OF ME!". With my final push, the body came out. I felt a gush of amniotic fluid come out of my aching pussy. My swollen belly was still in pain.
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Thinking about Snarry/Snarriet and the general consensus that Harry has Lily’s eyes.
‘Lily’s eyes.’
Severus mentally scoffed at his colleagues’ sentiment as wide eyes flicked over to glare at him. The heat contained within them would set a better man alight with their shame. Severus, however, took it in stride. He’d been burning in the flames of his sins long before an incandescent teen felt entitled to judge him. Acidic green bore into him behind large coke-bottle glasses. It truly was an imbecilic statement. Lily’s eyes had never looked like that.
Lily’s green was like a pleasant day. It was warm like the sun during spring. The color of it was the meeting of soft grass and lively sky. They settled on him like a comforting reprieve. Even when Severus had irrevocably damaged their relationship, Lily’s eyes had never looked like Harry’s.
Harry’s eyes were all encompassing— demanding. The brightness of them caught Severus’ attention and then drew him into their depths. They threatened to drag him down and drown him before he even knew what had occurred. Viscous and unrepentant. Those eyes took and took, and then demanded more even when there was nothing left to give. Insolent and greedy. Their color was the shade of a toxic poison depicted in muggle cartoons.
They’re the same shade as the killing curse. A darker part of his mind provided, unbidden. He snarled.
Severus had no doubt that a better man would melt, torturously, under the gaze of Harry’s green. The sharpness of the barely restrained emotions whittling down until the person ceased to exist. Severus, however, was hardly man anymore and what man was left certainly couldn’t be considered ‘better’.
So he meets the slaughter head-on, leveling the acidic stare with his own cutting glare. And Severus doesn’t melt a little every time black collides with green. And he certainly isn’t tortured by them long after their departure. No, Severus laces as much contempt as he can into his voice and sneers. It comes easy, naturally.
Zara gasped for air as her lover rubbed her hips and sunk deep into her wetness.
He had been painting the play room when he found her in the kitchen unpacking. He had walked up behind Zara, unzipping the front of his pants. Zara heard the inviting sound and instantly became excited. He swiftly moved in, lifting her skirt and roughly pulled down her lace thong. He was hard and ready! He thrusted his hardened shaft inside her throbbing passage in one strong motion. Zara moaned loudly as the rapid pumping commenced.
"How does that feel? I have been thinking about you! Can you feel what thinking about you does to me?"
Zara breathlessly nodded as the thrusting increased, moaning loudly as her arousal powerfully started to build. Her pregnant form ached for her lover's attention. He was always so hungry for her when she was heavy with child. He thrusted faster, edging rapidly to his release. Zara's breathing became more laborious as her climax threatened to explode. Her lover allowed her to erupt first, following one almighty roaring release of his own.
Zara had taken up residence in a beautiful country estate with her lover. The Breeding God was now living in the modern world, disguised as a wealthy business manager of his own company. He had taken the name Benjamin. He enjoyed how it sounds when Zara screamed it out when she climaxed wildly. Their two children, both sons, playing happily in the large gardens with their nanny as the couple unpacked and set up each room in the enormous mansion.
As Zara came hard, she insanely squeezed Benjamin tighter inside of her, contracting and convulsing wildly as her body lost all control. She spasmed violently as she could feel the child actively move in her womb. She frantically panted, gripping Benjamin's both hands. This was the best release of her pregnancy. She was loving immensely.
